


A Spoonful of Sugar (Foot-In-Mouth Syndrome)

by nerddowell



Series: Drabbles + ficlets [8]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Periods, Return of the Cats, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Philippe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 03:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: Philippe gets his period, and Chevy and the cats help him through it.





	A Spoonful of Sugar (Foot-In-Mouth Syndrome)

Philippe is sat on the couch with Chevy and the cats, his boyfriend yelling at _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ on Netflix, when the first twinges happen. At first, he thinks it’s just a sore spot that Madame has prodded as she’s turning around in his lap, kneading at his belly to tame it into submission before she gets herself comfortable. Next to him, Chevy scoffs at the frankly pathetic effort one of the queens has made with their runway dress on the current challenge, and Philippe murmurs his assent, when the twinge becomes a full-blown stabbing pain in his stomach and he doubles over a little, dislodging Madame with a yowl of displeasure. She fixes him with a disapproving blue gaze, yowls crossly at him again, and pads over to Chevy, climbing up onto the back of the sofa and settling beside his head, her tail swiping lazily back and forth over his shoulder.

Chevy gives him a sympathetic look and takes his hand, squeezing gently. Philippe nods almost imperceptibly to the voiceless question and stumbles up off the couch to the kitchen, where he digs a couple of Nurofen out of their bits-and-bobs cupboard and chases them down with a gulp of water from a tumbler beside the sink. They’ve both been anticipating it for the last few days; Philippe is as regular as clockwork, and the app he’s got on his phone to track the whole sorry business has been warning him that it would crop up at some point in the immediate future. Still, he rubs his temples tiredly and heads upstairs to get changed, pulling a pair of his oldest, most threadbare boxers – designated for bleeding onto – out of their chest of drawers and removing his binder.

He gets into bed, pulling the duvet right over his head and curling up into a ball as the next wave of cramps hit. It feels as though all of his abdominal organs have been tied into one big knot, which keeps being jerked tighter and then loose. Philippe buries his head in one of the pillows and breathes through it, hands pressed firmly against the offending area and eyes squeezed tight shut.

At least he doesn’t have work for the next three days, since it’s a Bank Holiday. Plenty of time to sit inside, wallowing and generally feeling sorry for himself.

A loud miaowing at the door heralds the arrival of the cats, and a second later a large, heavy, purring lump deposits itself on top of the lump that is Philippe under the blankets. He removes the covers from over his head to find Monseigneur’s large yellow eyes blinking at him, half-lidded and lazy. Monseigneur climbs elegantly to his feet and trots over, still rumbling like a piece of heavy machinery, and rubs his face against Philippe’s cheek, standing on exactly the spot in Philippe’s abdomen that aches with cramps. Philippe groans, shoving at the cat, and Monseigneur purrs and rasps his rough tongue over Philippe’s fingers, ignoring his protests, before curling up placidly and going to sleep.

Chevy comes in a few moments later, carrying a tub of ice cream, two spoons, and a hot chocolate. Usually Philippe doesn’t trust Chevy in the kitchen with boiling water, but given that the house isn’t burning down around him he assumes Chevy has not done too much damage. He gratefully accepts the hot chocolate, and Chevy pulls the carton lid off the ice cream before handing him a spoon. In all honesty, Philippe is feeling entirely too sick with pain for anything even halfway solid, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

They lie side by side in bed for several minutes, Madame between them and Monseigneur still rumbling away on Philippe’s stomach, before Chevy speaks.

‘I seem to remember this was always the worst part of womanhood.’

Philippe flinches, glowering at him, and snaps, ‘I’m not a woman.’

‘Forgive me, darling, I misspoke.’ Chevy takes his hand and presses a kiss to the knuckles, his blue eyes earnest. ‘I know you’re not. All I meant was to reassure you that I know it’s tough on you.’

‘You compared me to a woman,’ Philippe says bluntly, staring into his hot chocolate. ‘As though it wasn’t bad enough to have the monthly reminder that I’m not a ‘real’ man, I then have to have my boyfriend equally tactlessly inform me of that fact through his own thoughtlessness. If you came in to attempt to make me feel better, you’ve rather shot that horse in the face.’

‘I am sorry,’ Chevy mumbles. ‘I didn’t mean to make things worse. Do we have any salt to season the foot in my mouth?’

At this, Philippe cracks a small smile.

‘Perhaps a spoonful of sugar? I hear it helps the medicine go down,’ he suggests, and Chevy rolls his eyes. He always likes to pretend that Philippe is the Disney fan, but out of the pair of them, it’s far more likely that one would find Chevy holding one of the cats in the air whilst singing _The Circle of Life_ , or else dancing in the garden with a bamboo gardening pole and humming _Chim Chiminee_.

‘I suppose not,’ Philippe says with a grin, ‘sugar and cheese don’t go well together.’

‘Whose feet are you calling cheesy?’ Chevy says in outrage, and shoves his foot towards Philippe’s face, laughing. Philippe puts his mug down to defend himself, the cramps flitting from his mind, and grabs Chevy’s foot with one hand, tickling the sole with the tips of his fingers until his boyfriend is crying with laughter and squirming on the bed, desperate to get away, as the cats watch with unimpressed expressions on their feline faces.

Philippe lets him go with a broad grin, but Chevy makes him laugh harder a moment later when he contorts himself into a sort of pretzel shape trying to see if he really can put his foot in his mouth. He manages to get his big toe almost all the way to his lips before the cats decide it must be a game and leap on him, batting at the curls coming loose from his hair tie, and he loses his balance, landing heavily against Philippe and making him nearly slop his hot chocolate all over their bedclothes. He lies there with his head heavy against the ache in Philippe’s abdomen, and his eyes warm and blue on his boyfriend’s face, and Philippe just rolls his eyes with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you're wondering what the cats look like, Madame is a chocolate colour point Ragdoll like [this](http://www.life-with-siamese-cats.com/images/ragdoll-cat-breed-03.jpg), and Monseigneur is a grumpy-looking old blue/smoke grey British Shorthair like [this](http://pawpost.co.uk/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/BSHC_03.jpg) (and oh my god I swear that photo just moved).


End file.
